Hold on! Don’t fire!” yelled the voice who just appeared in the doorway. He was standing behind the two men that Elfego shot. I was ready to cut loose with the Greener when he yelled.
I took a couple of steps toward the entrance. “Take their guns…nice and easy. Come in and place them on the counter,” I said pointing with the shotgun.
The second man Elfego shot was sitting on the floor while the first man was leaning on the frame of the entrance grasping onto it so he could stand. I saw him raise his arm, pistol in hand. “Better get that gun before he points it!” I declared. This close the shotgun would cut the two standing in half.
“Give me the gun, Bo,” urged the man standing behind him.
The man, Bo, couldn’t steady his gun arm. It was weaving all around. “That Mex kilt Joe,” he hissed.
“Bo, give me the gun,” the man pleaded. An evil smirk appeared on Bo’s face, then all expression disappeared as he fell to the floor.
The man reached down to pick up the gun. “With the finger tips,” I warned him. “On the counter. Yours too.”
The man did right well with my instructions, then went to get the other man’s gun. When the guns were placed on the counter I looked to see how Mr. Green was doing. He was leaning against some sacks of potatoes, pale as a ghost and holding his bleeding arm. The deputy was standing off to my left holding his broken arm against his chest.
Lowering the Greener, I looked at Elfego. “Give me my gun and run get a doctor.” He placed the pistol in my hand then took off jumping over the two men on the floor. It bothered me that he had the audacity to pull my gun from its holster. Bothered me more that I let him, didn’t even know it until it happened.
I looked around surveying the scene and whispered a quick silent prayer of “thank you Lord, before I went over to Mr. Green. Spotting a chair over against the wall. I guided him in that direction and helped him get situated in it. “Here,” I said handing him some kind of cloth from the display. “Hold this tight against the wound.”
There was still the smell of smoke in the room when the doctor appeared with Elfego five minutes later. I watched him glance at the situation. Saw the two men on the floor, then the deputy and finally against the wall Mr. Green. I pointed toward Green and he rushed right over. While he was examining his wound I walked up to the only non-casualty in the room besides myself and Elfego.
His first glance was to the shotgun I held in my left hand. “You got a name?” I asked.
“Adams, Ken Adams,” he replied nervously.
“How ’bout them two?” I asked, nodding toward the two men on the floor. Both of whom were unconscious and from where I was standing I couldn’t tell if they were breathing or not.
“This one,” he said looking at the man to my right, “is Bo Crandall. The other fellow is Tobacco Joe Sanchez.”
By this time there was quite a gathering outside the door. The doc had finished with Mr. Green and told the deputy that he’d be with him in a bit. “Harvey,” he hollered, “grab someone and help get Phil down to my office. I need to cut that bullet out.”
He then stooped down to examine Crandall. Shaking his head. “He’s still breathing, but he’s lost a lot of blood. Bullet hit him in the side and went straight through.” He motioned for another man in the crowd to come down and hold the man’s bandanna on the wound in the back with one hand, then took the man’s shirttail and placed it on the wound in front. “Push steady, hold him like he was a sandwich.”
Next he scooted over to Sanchez. “Hmmm, there’s blood on his thigh, but…” he said as he started looking at the man’s head. When he touched a spot the man winced, opening his eyes. “Must have hit it on the floor when he fell.”
“All right, Deputy Case, let me tend to you,” he informed him, standing and walking to him.
While he was taking care of the deputy, Marshal Udall finally showed up at the scene. His eyes widened when he saw the two men down on the floor. He then glanced over at his deputy, finally his gaze rested on me. “What happened?”
“Why don’t you ask him?” I asked, pointing at Adams.
I sort of nonchalantly moved the shotgun I was holding from my left hand to the right. I noticed the eyes of Adams flickered watching the movement.
“Ken, tell me what happened. Who started the shooting?”
Glaring at him, I pulled on the end of my moustache with my left hand.
“Well, I…”